All I Want For Christmas
by Becks Rylynn
Summary: Lila Bray 'verse. Four year olds are supposed to believe in Santa Claus. Christmas!fic. Merry Christmas! -Will probably never be finished-
1. Chapter One

_AN: This is half a Christmas present for you all and half a birthday present for little Lila Bray 'cause her birthday was on the 10th and I almost forgot._

**Title:**_** All I Want For Christmas  
**_**Summary: **Lila Bray 'verse. Four year olds are _supposed _to believe in Santa Claus. Twoshot. Somewhat of a missing scene for _'a ghost of you...'  
_**Pairings:** Minor Dean/Ruby, Sam/Sarah, possible mentions of Ellen/Bobby.  
**Characters:** Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ruby, Lila Bray Winchester (OFC)  
**Timeline:** Takes place during the main story: _a ghost of you is all that i have left._ Right after Lila Bray's fourth birthday party. The year would be.....what? Late 2011 or 2012. I haven't spent that much time on the timeline.  
**Genre:** Family/Drama.  
**Rating:** T for language.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** I don't think I need to warn for anything, just that it's a kid!fic. The only spoilers are for the main story.**  
Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Lila Bray.

* * *

**All I Want For Christmas**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

* * *

_Chapter One_

* * *

_Isn't it funny that at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for - I don't know what exactly, but it's something that you don't mind so much not having at other times.  
_**-Kate L. Bosher**

* * *

It's not even Christmas yet and Dean's already tired of this stupid holiday crap.

His daughter, however, loves Christmas and he'll admit, the way her face lights up on Christmas morning, the way her eyes shine in wonder and amazement when she sees sparkling lights decorating trees and buildings, the sound of her laughter as she twirls in the snow....it's the only reason he celebrates this fucking holiday. He'd much rather pretend Christmas isn't happening but he's not going to deprive his little girl of Christmas, that's just not right.

So he smiles and pulls out all the stops at this time of the year even though all he really wants to do is drink himself into a stupor until he can't even remember his own name let alone the fact that _she _is not here to see their daughter rip open her presents. The lights, the decorations, the presents, the tree....he makes sure she has it all. Everything she deserves and everything he didn't have as a child.

It's always been like that.

* * *

On her first Christmas, the war was raging and he was dealing with enormous guilt over missing her birthday but he still managed to pop in and see her on December 25th (if only to whisper ''I'm sorry'' into her ear over and over again.) He remembers vividly that she had been wearing a white dress that made her look like an angel (_his_ angel) and she cried out ''Daddy!'' when she saw him, (he chooses to believe it was because she recognized him and _missed _him and not because it was the only word she knew) her blue eyes lighting up almost as bright as the Christmas tree in the corner. He remembers the way she clung to him and wouldn't let go the entire time he was there, he remembers the way she screamed and cried and threw a temper tantrum that would put her mother's many fits of anger to shame when he left, but most of all he remembers thinking that her mother should have been there to see her little girl gaze in amazement at the glowing tree with an innocence that made his eyes burn because he couldn't remember if he ever got to feel that safe.

(He also remembers going to her mother's grave, pacing back and forth in the snow and yelling at her for being stupid and making that deal. But he would like to forget that part....)

* * *

On her second Christmas, he was there and wasn't going anywhere so he decided to get her something big. He got her a house. No, really, he did. It was the year they moved into their home. That same year he and Sam dragged in a tree and once the lights were put up, try as they might, they could not get the tiny girl out from under the tree. She actually fell asleep all curled up in a ball with her thumb in her mouth and he just....couldn't help himself.

He had to take a picture. If anything, he would use it later in life to embarrass her when she brought a boy home. Or maybe for blackmail.

....Oh yeah. Definitely for blackmail.

(When he brings up the picture, she blushes and scowls, looking so much like her mother it actually physically hurts, and she says, ''Daddy, I don't remember anything about that'' before sticking her noise up in the air.)

* * *

Her third Christmas was....educational. He learned she was afraid of bunnies. She screamed like a banshee when she saw what Auntie Ellen had gotten her and tried to climb the tree.

True story. She _honestly _tried to climb the Christmas tree.

And when that didn't work, she had leapt onto his back and refused to move until Peter Cottontail had been removed from the house. Which, among other things, resulted in a sore back. It probably would have been funnier if the rabbit hadn't gotten loose and he hadn't gotten bruises and a black eye from trying to catch it.

(Also, another thing he learned? It really sucked that she didn't sleep in her crib anymore because he was awoken on Christmas morning by her body smacking into his. Which hurt. The whole day had turned into some sort of sick ''Let's beat up Dad'' kind of day but she had been happy and that was all that mattered.)

* * *

And this Christmas? Well, like all the other Christmases, he is determined to make it good. Like her birthdays. Every year on her birthday, on Christmas, on Halloween, Easter, hell, even Valentine's Day, he tries to make it the best as if he is trying to make up for the fact that she doesn't have a mom and all she has is a slightly fucked in the head and broken down dad. (And he wonders every single year....is this how his father felt?)

So yes, Dean Winchester hates holiday shit. Hates the lights and the sounds and the tidings of joy or whatever, hates the cold and the cheesy songs and the bright colours but Lila Bray Winchester loves it all. And that is all that will _ever _matter.

* * *

_Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall.  
_**-Larry Wilde, **_**The Merry Book of Christmas**_

* * *

On the morning of December 24th, he is pulled from dreamland by the familiar uneasy feeling that he is being watched. The old hunter instincts kick in and his eyes snap open, his body tense and ready for a fight. The sight of the empty room does nothing to comfort him and when he rolls over, he gets the confirmation he needs. There are big blue eyes inches away from his face and she's smiling a very wide, toothy smile.

A startled yelp escapes his lips and he rolls off the bed. Unfortunately, he doesn't manage to catch himself like he had hoped he would and quickly ends up on his back. Groaning, he rises to his feet and plants his hands on his hips as he stares at Bray. She's giggling and bouncing on her knees and he wants to be mad but she looks so happy. ''I'm glad one of us found that enjoyable,'' he remarks dryly.

''Yeah!'' She claps her hands together, her childish glee making the corners of his lips tug upwards. ''Do it again, Daddy!''

''I'm thinking no.''

She pouts for all of five seconds before shrugging and rising to her feet. Her eyes are twinkling and sparkling and he's trying not to think about her mother but with her tangled blond hair and her bright eyes, he can't help it. He shakes it off and doesn't get a chance to think about how he thinks the scent of strawberries and sulfur is lingering somewhere in the room because suddenly the little girl squeals and leaps onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. ''Good morning, Dad!'' She grins and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. ''How are you?''

''Lila Bray,'' he says slowly, blinking at her enthusiasm. ''You have really got to warn me before you do that.''

''That's no fun, though.''

''Have you brushed your teeth yet?''

''No.''

''Yeah, didn't think so.''

''Why?''

''Hello morning breath.''

She rolls her eyes but lets him put her down on the ground, even though it means she has to crane her neck to see him because wow, daddy's tall. ''How come you're acting like you live in a trash can?'' She asks innocently.

Okay. It's not often that it happens, but he's stumped. Frowning, he scratches the back of his neck, thinks long and hard and strikes out. ''Okay, I don't get it.''

She rolls her eyes again and climbs back onto the bed so at least she's a little bit taller. Shaking her head like she is severely disappointed in him, she reaches up to place a hand on his arm. ''Oscar, Daddy. From Sesame Street.''

''....Oh. Still not getting it.''

''Grouchy,'' she sighs out impatiently. ''You're bein' all grouchy and stuff.''

He gasps, scandalized. ''Am not.''

''Are too.'' She points a finger at him, blue eyes _very_ serious. ''Remember, Daddy; you can't spell 'nice' without....'ice'.''

''That...._is_ true.''

''Uh-huh. _Remember that._''

''Will do. Not that I really need to because I'm _not _grouchy.''

''You _are_.''

''Tell it to the tickle monster, sugar.''

Bray pauses and blinks slowly. ''What does that - '' She doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence because her daddy has suddenly pulled her into his arms, tickling her until she shrieks in laughter.

And Dean doesn't notice it, but through her laughter Bray looks over his shoulder, catches a flash of blond and smiles even wider.

* * *

Bray knows perfectly well that she can make her daddy do anything she wants. She's got him wrapped around her little finger, she's Daddy's Princess and she gets everything she wants. (Almost anything. When she was three, she asked for a mommy and a little brother but instantly regretted it when Daddy got quiet and sad and looked at her with green eyes that shone bright like the pretty lights on the Christmas-ey tree.) This Christmas, she wants it to be the Best Christmas Ever. No matter what. She tells him that, very seriously, her eyes locked with his and he sighs wearily, but nods anyway and says, ''Sure thing, Lila Bray. Best Christmas Ever. Coming right up.''

She doesn't know if she believes him just yet. She knows he tries very hard every year but something is always missing. She's not quite sure what it is, but it feels like there's a hole in her heart where something should be. She decides this year, she is going to figure out what she needs the most to make this holiday happy, wonderful and special.

* * *

Humming 'Jingle Bells' under her breath, Bray skips down the hall and into her room. She freezes, stopping short when she sees the woman lounging on her bed, flipping through a children's book with distaste.

''I don't understand the purpose of this book,'' she's saying, turning another page. ''If he thinks he can, he thinks he can, why doesn't he just _do it_? Don't think, just do.''

Bray giggles and rushes forwards, jumping onto the bed next to the woman. ''Hi, Mommy!'' When she realizes the volume of her voice, she claps a hand over her mouth and peers anxiously over her shoulder, suddenly remembering that her daddy isn't allowed to know. Yet. ''I mean….'' She lowers her voice to a whisper, ''hi, Mommy.'' She pauses and looks down at the book. ''By the way, spoiler alert; he can.''

''Thank goodness. It was a real nail biter.''

''I _know._''

Ruby smiles softly and tosses the book aside, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind Bray's ear. ''Hello, Bray. Did you have a good sleep?''

''Uh-huh, but I woke up once and you weren't there.''

Ruby bites her lip instead of sighing and allows her daughter to crawl into her lap. ''I know, I'm sorry, babe, I was....'' _I was watching your father sleep like some kind of creepy stalker chick. _''....I had something to do.''

''Oh,'' Bray shrugs, unconcerned as she hops off Ruby's lap and makes her way over to the closet. ''Well, whatever. Do you know what day it is today?'' Behind her, Ruby opens her mouth to say something but Bray doesn't have time for that as she tosses her hair over her shoulder and squeals, ''It's Christmas Eve!''

Her mother rises to her feet, absently smoothing down her wrinkled clothing. ''It is.'' She's always loved the way her daughter adores the holidays. Sure, she's not a big fan (she actually finds them kind of pointless) but seeing Bray so happy somehow makes it all worth it. ''Are you excited?'' She clasps her hands as she watches the little girl rifle through her closet, haphazardly tossing articles of clothing behind her.

''Santa Claus comes tonight, you know,'' Bray says as she turns around with a bundle of clothes in her arms. She flashes her mother one of those great big smiles of hers. ''_Santa Claus._ He's going to come and bring me presents. Right? 'Cause I think I've been good.''

''He certainly is.''

''Daddy said if Santa doesn't bring me presents, he's going to beat him up.''

A laugh escapes Ruby's lips and a smile threatens to pull her lips upwards. ''I'm sorry,'' she says when she sees the questioning look her daughter is throwing her way. ''I was picturing it.''

''I think Daddy could take Santa.''

''True.''

''_But,_'' Bray sighs as she heaves the clothes onto her bed. ''Santa does have magic.''

''....Also true.''

''Which one do you think would win?''

''I...don't feel qualified to answer that.''

Shrugging, the little girl picks out an outfit out of the pile of clothes and tilts her head to the side. She shakes her head after a moment and throws the outfit behind her. Ruby eyes the growing mess on the floor and rolls her eyes before beginning to pluck the clothes from the floor. She'll act like it's a hassle but it's nice to feel like a mom again. She turns her eyes to Bray just as the little girl picks out some clothes and shoves the rest on the floor (Ruby sighs) and arches an eyebrow. ''You need any help, baby?''

Bray scoffs. ''Mommy, I'm four. I can get dressed by myself.''

''Of course you can.''

Proudly, the small girl smiles up at her mother and then proceeds to try (the keyword here is _try_) to strip off her nightgown. She struggles for about a minute and half, stumbling sideways and narrowly missing running into her dresser. Just as Ruby's about to convince her daughter to let her help, Bray finally pulls the nightgown off with a flourish and blinks, turning to her mother. Pausing in her attempts to clean up Bray's mess, Ruby smiles crookedly and gives her a thumbs up. Bray manages to wiggle into her jeans just fine but when she tries to tug a shirt over her head (again; the keyword is _tries_) she promptly gets stuck.

''Baby - ''

''I can do it!''

It's almost painful to watch Bray hop around the room like some kind of sad turtle stuck in its shell. ''Bray, honey - ''

''I can do it, mommy! I'm not a baby.''

''Of course you're not,'' Ruby says patiently as she slips a dress onto a hanger.

Bray struggles for a moment longer, her fingers desperately trying to pull the shirt down. Finally, she heaves a loud sigh and stops struggling. There's a moment of silence and then she sighs _again, _finally admitting, ''I have a problem.''

Her mother laughs, not unkindly. It's that same laugh that Bray thinks sounds magical, soft and clear and pretty. Gentle hands help her into the shirt, pulling it down over her head and Bray stares up at her mother with big blue eyes and messy hair. Ruby doesn't say a word, there is no _I told you so _(which Bray is eternally grateful for) she simply kneels in front of the little girl, straightens her clothes and fluffs her hair. ''All fixed.''

Bray smiles, somewhat shyly. ''Thank you.''

Ruby smiles again but Bray notes it's different. Sad and kind of lonely. Frowning thoughtfully, she moves over to her dresser and picks up her hairbrush, holding it out to her mother. ''Mommy, will you help me with my hair?''

''Sure, sweetheart.''

(It's nice to feel like a mom again.)

* * *

When Bray leaves the room, Ruby stands perfectly still and stares after her. Her eyes flick to a picture of Dean and Bray and the longing comes fast. But when Bray doubles back and pokes her head back in, Ruby's already gone.

* * *

_Christmas is a time when you get homesick. Even when you're home.  
_**-Carol Nelson**

* * *

Dean stops in his tracks when he enters the kitchen and he has to do a double take. ''Lila Bray,'' he moves farther into the room and circles her slowly. She doesn't even blink, instead shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. ''Did you get dressed all by yourself?''

She shrugs.

''Without getting stuck?''

''...Well...do you see anyone else here?''

''And did you make yourself breakfast?''

She brightens at that, clapping her hands. ''Yes, I did, Daddy! I made cereal all by myself. I am a curinarly genie!''

''Culinary genius.''

''Whatever. Oh. We need more milk.''

''....I just bought milk.''

She ducks her head and stares at her cereal. ''....I dropped it and it exploded.''

''Right.'' Dean bites back a smile as he makes his way into the kitchen. If he were to count on his fingers the times Bray has spilled something trying to do it herself....he would need more fingers. She's only four (and she only turned four on the 10th) but to her that's already ''big girl'' territory and she simply must do everything herself. It usually ends in disaster. ''At least you cleaned it up,'' he mutters under his breath.

''Daddy,'' Bray says through a mouthful of cereal.

''Chew your food and then talk, Lila Bray,'' he says without looking up from making coffee.

Bray rolls her eyes dramatically but swallows, pushing herself onto her knees on the chair. She can tell it makes her father nervous but she does it anyway because she's a Winchester and since when do Winchesters do what they're supposed to. ''Daddy, I know what I want to do today.''

He slides his gaze to her, arching an eyebrow curiously. ''And what's that?''

She beams.

* * *

The sound of the door opening brings Bray's gaze upwards and a bright smile instantly stretches across her face when she sees the man standing there, shaking snow off. ''Uncle Sammy!'' She races forwards, leaping into his arms with the enthusiasm only a child could have.

''Hi, babe,'' Sam grins that same lopsided grin of his and twirls Bray before lifting her into strong arms to let her plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. ''What are you up to?''

''I'm making a Christmas card,'' she says seriously.

''Hmm, for me?''

''No, silly,'' she giggles, ''it's for - ''

''Sam.''

They both turn their gaze to Dean, who is already looking extremely wary of his brother's presence. Every year this happens. Every year someone feels the need to drop in randomly near Christmas to make sure Dean's doing all right and not getting the holiday blues. It would be nice if it weren't so annoying (because he is _fine_). If Sam notices the look his brother's giving him, he doesn't show it. ''Hey, Dean.''

''What are you doing here?''

''Dude, calm down,'' Sam deadpans. ''Your enthusiasm is exhausting.''

''Hilarious.'' Dean's gaze moves towards the handmade card on the table, he falters for a second and then locks eyes with his brother. ''Are you here for the annual ''let's make sure Dean isn't hiding under the covers crying'' thing? Because it's still just as annoying.''

''I hide under the covers when there's a thunderstorm,'' Bray chimes in, nodding her head.

Sam puts Bray on the ground, rolling his eyes at his brother. ''That's not what I'm here for.''

''What are you here for?''

''He's hiding from Sarah,'' Bray says simply. Both brothers look at her, but she's gone back to her card, holding it up and studying it critically. When they look away from her, she lets a small smile flicker across her lips and turns her eyes to them briefly.

Dean smirks and tilts his head to the side, regarding his embarrassed brother silently for a moment long enough to make the younger man shuffle uncomfortably. ''You're hiding from your wife,'' he drawls. ''That's manly.''

''I would too.'' Looking up momentarily, the crayon in her hand stops gliding across the paper and Bray sends her father a look. Defending her uncle Sammy comes naturally to her, she's Lila Bray Winchester, sweet and kind and loving. She would defend anyone. (She saved a spider once when she was two and a little boy on the playground was going to kill it.) She's a sweetheart. (And no one can figure out where she got it from because if you look at her mom and dad, neither of them are particularly warm and fluffy people.) ''Sarah's scary when she has a baby in her tummy,'' she says matter-of-factly.

''Not arguing with you there,'' Sam mutters.

''She is a tiny little woman, Sam,'' Dean says with a shake of his head.

''A tiny little woman with a large collection of high heel shoes. That she likes to throw at me when she's angry.''

Dean pauses for a moment, half heartedly searching for a witty reply to that. Finally, he gives up, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. ''Shouldn't you be used to the pregnant woman hormones? Didn't Ruby have mood swings when she was pregnant?'' It slips out before he can stop it and as soon as he says her name he has this rush of unease, as if there is someone just out of reach watching him intently. He sends a quick glance at his daughter but her head is down and she's working hard. He draws in a breath and tries not to think about the fact that that was the first time he said _her _name in months.

(He doesn't see Bray look up, her blue eyes moving to the air behind her father. She smiles brightly for a fraction of a second with her eyes twinkling like stars and then turns her gaze back to her card.)

''Her mood swings weren't as bad as Sarah's,'' Sam answers shortly. Without waiting for a response, he pushes past his brother and flops onto the couch dramatically. ''In short; yes, I am afraid of my wife and I am not ashamed to admit that because of the high heeled projectile missiles and I'm staying here. If Sarah calls, tell her I'm at work.'' With a satisfied grin and an approving nod from his niece, he lifts his eyes to Dean. ''Oh, and the light in the snowman is out again,'' he adds off handedly.

Of course it is.

* * *

She wonders why he even puts up with that appalling snowman decoration. It's ugly and unpredictable and doesn't seem to ever work when it's supposed to. She's watching him as he fiddles with the uncooperative Christmas decoration, the white sky overhead threatening more snow to add to the white on the lawn.

He looks cold.

His breath hangs in the air. Hers doesn't. She almost wants to outstretch a hand into the air to see if she can catch his breath but she stops herself because that seems slightly desperate. Leaning nonchalantly against the old oak tree in the front yard, Ruby presses her lips together firmly and studies his face. Her elbows rest lightly against the tree and her eyes burn into him as he works. A moment later, a heavy sigh escapes her lips and she pushes off the tree, circling him slowly. ''You look tired,'' she whispers, but the wind picks up and drowns out her voice. (Not that he would have heard her anyway.) ''I know the holidays are hard on you,'' she continues, wrapping her arms around herself like she's cold.

(She _is_ cold. She's always cold.)

''I thought that...they were hard on you because of me.'' She tilts her head to the side. ''I know you wish I.....'' She trails off and can't quite finish her sentence because her throat has closed up. ''I wish I could be here too,'' she finally says once she can speak again. ''Really here, I mean._ Alive_. But I'm not and that's not why the holidays are so hard on you.'' She focuses her gaze on the snow covered ground for a second before looking up and moving to stand beside him. ''It's because you never had this. You never got Christmas because your father never tried. Not like you do. What you do every year,'' she smiles gently and crouches down to his level, watching as he expertly replaces the bulb in the tacky snowman. She would love it if he looked at her but she knows he won't. He can't. ''What you do for our daughter...it's one of the most selfless things I've seen you do, Dean. All those bad memories of empty Christmases, you push them away for her. You try so hard for her.'' She pauses, her knees now sinking into the cold snow. ''But....it doesn't all have to be about her, you know. You can do something for yourself.'' She stops again, almost as if she's waiting for a response she knows will never come.

The silence lasts too long and then she licks her lips nervously and can't help herself anymore. ''Dean....'' His name comes out in a whisper and she reaches out a hand, fully intending to touch him. Just once, just a light touch, he'll think it's the wind. She just wants to feel him again. But she stops herself at the last minute, drawing her hand away sharply. When she feels that familiar ache inside, that same longing that stays with her always, she has to bite down hard on her bottom lip. ''You're doing a great job.'' She gives him a watery smile that he won't see. ''You're doing better than I could have ever....'' She trails off and tries to imagine a life where she had never made that deal, a life where she raised Bray on her own. But she can't seem to see anything. Without Dean....

She shakes that thought off as quickly as she can and looks back at him like she's trying to make him see her. That's when it happens. He looks up so suddenly it makes her gasp. When she rises to shaky feet, he does too and she swears he is looking right at her. But she only gets a glimpse of those eyes she loves so much before he looks away. She breathes heavily (even though it's unnecessary) and almost feels faint. She's sure if her heart could beat, it would be racing right about now.

The front door crashes open and Bray steps out onto the front porch, grinning wildly. ''Daddy!'' She waves a piece of paper in the air and her smile is so big and wide, Ruby manages a small smile as well and even though he's turned away from her, she knows Dean is smiling too. ''I'm done!''

''Okay, sugar, I'll be right there.''

Ruby watches him intently with borrowed time and when he starts to walk away, she swallows hard and feels her eyes sting.

This is the way things are.

She is a ghost, he is not, her world is lonely and cold, his is welcoming and warm. And she has accepted that because what else can she do? She's a _ghost._ But....(she watches him walk away from her again, disappearing into the warm house while she remains in the cold)....the holidays are always the hardest.

* * *

_**Rose Collins:**__ I like to think my life matters.  
__**Charlie Boyd: **__Oh, your life matters. You've touched other people's lives in ways you don't even realize.  
__**Rose Collins: **__How do you know that?  
__**Charlie Boyd: **__'Cause you've touched my life.  
_**-Noel**

* * *

He swears he saw her out there.

For a fraction of a second she was right in front of him as real as he was and all he wanted to do was reach out, grab her and never let her go. But, he decides, that was probably just his imagination. (He's beginning to really hate Christmas, it's making him _hallucinate_.) He holds onto his daughter's hand only because she refuses to let go as she bends down to place something lovingly on the ground.

''I made you this for Christmas, mommy,'' the little girl whispers and he closes his eyes and sighs. (He misses the way Bray's eyes dart around the space in between everything as if she is searching.) ''I hope you like it.''

He feels slightly numb and can't be sure if that's because of the cold weather or the fact that he is having an overload of emotions dumped onto him so his body is, like, shutting down or something. He tries to make himself think, but all he can think (and that's after a minute and fifteen seconds of thinking nothing) is that Bray's little hand feels really cold.

''Daddy?''

He is snapped out of his reverie by the sound of her voice and has to physically tear his gaze away from the small cross dug into the ground. (He thinks about that cross for a moment and remembers that it is actually the second one made for her because when Bray was about six or seven months old and teething and there was a war going on, he came here, broke into a million fractured pieces and ripped it out of the ground, throwing it against the nearby tree just to watch it splinter apart like he was.) Turning his eyes to his baby girl, he tries to look happy and cheerful and isn't quite sure if he manages it. ''What?'' He looks at the innocence on his daughter's features and breathes slowly. ''What did you say, sugar?''

She tilts her head to the side and frowns. ''I...said we can go now. I'm finished.''

''Oh,'' he nods, hesitates and looks at the cross. He's not sure what he wants to say, if he wants to say anything at all, but suddenly Bray is nudging him gently and whispering in his ear that he _has _to say _something _to her. Giving him a pointed look, the little girl pushes him lightly towards the cross and steps back as if to allow her parents some privacy. He resists the urge to sigh and roll his eyes and instead crouches down closer to the small white cross. It's just a moment, just a single moment, but he remembers her so vividly, he sees her smiling and laughing and he remembers the way she felt and tasted and he can't help himself. He reaches out to touch the cross and the words, ''Merry Christmas, baby,'' leave his lips in a strangled whisper.

Before that old familiar burn starts behind his eyes, he pushes it all away and stands, turning to his daughter with an overly bright smile. ''Okay, sugar, ready to get back home?''

She nods and grabs his hand, all but dragging him away, yammering on and on about how _Rudolph: The Red Nosed Reindeer _is on tonight and she doesn't want to miss it. He lets her lead him away and only looks back once, swallowing down the lump in his throat because he refuses to cry in front of his daughter.

(Bray looks back once, just in time to see her mother pick up the handmade card. She smiles and squeezes her daddy's hand.)

* * *

Ghosts can touch anything if they want it enough.

Ruby wants it _all._

She snatches the card up with ease and trembling fingers. It's not much, it's a child's creation made out of red construction paper, crayon and too much glitter but it's all she could ever want. _'Merry Christmas,' _the front reads and the R's are backwards and the S actually looks more like a 5 but it's perfect. The picture of Santa and the two reindeer, one sporting a red nose, makes her smile and the glitter sparkles in the sun. She opens the card and stares for a long time at the drawing of the stick figure family.

It's not hard to figure out who they are.

_'I love you,' _black crayon words scream, adding in a whisper, _'Daddy misses you.'_

She presses two fingers to her lips and phantom tears trail down her cheeks, leaving track marks on her ashen skin.

(_''Merry Christmas, baby,''_ she remembers.)

She whirls around, but they're already gone.

* * *

This tragic but touching Hallmark Christmas is ruined when Dean utterly and completely fucks up and the shit hits the fan.

* * *

_**George Bailey: **__What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.  
__**Mary Hatch: **__I'll take it. Then what?  
__**George Bailey: **__Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see...and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair...am I talking too much?  
_**-It's A Wonderful Life**

**end chapter one**

* * *

**I should mention that the next part probably won't be up until after Christmas. Like many things, I left it to the last minute so yeah, Christmas is in like a day and I haven't finished the last part yet. Don't worry, it won't take me that long to finish it.**

**Merry Christmas! Have a happy and safe holiday season. Love ya!  
Love and Kisses,  
Becks Rylynn**


	2. Chapter Two

_AN: I know that I haven't finished this since last Christmas, but the reason for that is some things happened last Christmas that left me unable to write anything for awhile. But this was written before the badness and it's basically just been sitting on my computer since last year. I figured in honor of the holiday spirit, I'd post it. I'm warning you now that unless I get some heavy duty inspiration for this story while I'm on Christmas vacation, this story will probably never be finished. But I felt bad that I didn't have anything Christmas-ey written, so...have this._

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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**All I Want For Christmas**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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_Chapter Two_

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_**Charlie Brown: **__I guess you were right, Linus. I shouldn't have picked this little tree. Everything I do turns into a disaster. I guess I really don't know what Christmas is all about. Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?  
__**-A Charlie Brown Christmas**_

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He gets into an argument with Sam just after the sun has gone down and it passes in blurs of hushed angry voices because neither of them wants Bray to hear. If at one point their voices get a little too loud, Bray doesn't hear because that's when she turns up the volume on _Rudolph: The Red Nosed Reindeer _and laughs extra loudly at something that isn't funny. (She's a smart girl, that Lila Bray.)

It's an odd argument, one about imaginary friends and invisible playmates and Sam is right (Sam is _always _right) but Dean is _Dean_ and he is stubborn and hard headed and won't give up without a fight. Sam is arguing that there is something strange about Bray's new imaginary friend. Apparently, he walked in on Bray having a conversation with her new friend and it was...odd. To say the least.

And Dean shouldn't argue because there _is _something off about Bray's new friend, but as usual, when it comes to his daughter, he gets defensive and snaps at Sam. (It's that little voice's fault. The one in the back of his head that keeps telling him he's not good enough, he needs to do more, be better, _try harder_.) Just like always, Sam snaps right back (there is fire in the Winchester's blood, after all) and they both explode.

''Dean, are you aware that kids are haunted more than adults?''

''It's not a ghost,'' Dean says vehemently, ignoring the look Sam gives him. It's not, it can't be. That's crazy. ''It's just another one of her imaginary friends, Sam. It's not a big deal.''

''But the things she says - ''

''Sam!'' Dean's voice holds an unspoken warning (_drop it, Sam, just...leave it alone_) as he narrows his eyes at his brother. ''It's not. A. Big. Deal. I am not going to take away Lila Bray's imaginary friend.''

''I'm not asking you to take away...'' Sam trails off and his gaze moves to the doorway, his frustration instantly evaporating. ''Dean...''

But Dean has turned away from him, rummaging around in the cupboard for something a little bit stronger to add to the insipid hot cocoa he's been drinking lately. His eyes light up when his hand hits a familiar bottle because he's annoyed and overworked and it's the seventh time today his daughter has watched _Rudolph: The Fucking Red Nosed Freakshow _or whatever. (It wouldn't actually be so bad except now he's got this song stuck in his head: _We're a couple of misfits, we're a couple of misfits, what's the matter with misfits? That's where we fit in_. It's annoyingly catchy and fuck, it sounds just like the story of his life and if he's relating to a reindeer with some kind of weird tumor nose then he needs some alcohol. ...And he's totally Rudolph because he is undoubtedly cooler than a Dentist Elf. Honestly, what the fuck, man?) ''She is four years old, Sam,'' he says as he uncaps the bottle of whiskey and pours a little into the cocoa, purposefully ignoring the odd look his brother is sending him.

He stops, thinks about it...then adds a little more because _we're a couple of misfits, we're a couple of _- damn it! Stupid song.

''Dean,'' Sam's saying and Dean notes the warning edge to his brother's voice but it doesn't deter him one bit.

(In the space he can't touch, Ruby's eyes have gone black and she's hissing out a desperate, ''Keep your mouth_ shut_, Winchester.'')

''I mean,'' Dean chuckles bitterly and the hot drink burns his tongue and throat when he takes a gulp. ''Maybe while I'm at it, I should just tell her Santa Claus isn't real.''

''Dean!''

(_''Dean!''_)

Panic and anger line Sam's voice but all Dean can hear is this little tiny sound that makes his heart stop. A voice. It's small and fragile, like glass. It makes ice fill his veins. ''S-Santa Claus isn't...r-real?''

Oh, fuck no.

He whirls around so fast the mixture of harsh alcohol and sickeningly sweet chocolate sloshes over the rim of the mug and burns his hand.

Um...uh-oh.

She's standing there in the doorway, her fingers desperately clutching a piece of paper, her eyes bright with tears, her lower lip quivering. His breathing picks up speed and for a moment he can't do anything but stare at her because his brain doesn't seem to be functioning. He thinks he may be having a stroke of some kind. She stares back, but only for a second and then the tears spill over. She lets out a despairing, choked sob and runs, the paper in her hands falling soundlessly to the floor.

''Bray!'' Sam rushes after her.

Dean would like to follow but he can't seem to move.

(''You,'' Ruby snarls, ''are a moron.'' Forgetting for a moment about longing and grief, she turns on her heel and races after Bray and Sam. And she only looks back once.)

He remains standing where he is for at least three minutes, perfectly still, breathing raggedly. And then he starts to tremble. Seemingly calm, save the shaking hands, he places the mug down and walks around the counter, snatching the piece of paper off the ground. It's a letter written in green and red crayon. More specifically, it is a very cheery letter to Santa Claus.

_'Dear Santa,' _it reads, _'I know I already sent you a letter and everything and it's kinda late but I have something else to ask you for. It's real important. I would like you to make my daddy happy again. I want you to give him back my mommy.'_

Great.

What the fuck has he done?

He figures he has three choices right now. Cry, throw something, or hyperventilate. Since he doesn't have any paper bags to breathe into and he does not feel like being a pansy at this particular moment in time (check back later when he's fighting tears in bed), he doesn't even stop to think as he grabs his mug and hurls it at the wall, watching in part fascination and part satisfaction as chocolate and whiskey drips down the wall. ''Fuck Christmas,'' he chokes out after a moment because he just can't do this anymore. ''Just...fuck it.''

And then...

...The television starts to sing.

_''We're a couple of misfits, we're a couple of misfits, what's the matter with misfits? That's where we - ''_

''Shut up!''

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_''Dear Editor. I am eight years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ''If you see it in The Sun, it's so.'' Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?''_  
_**-Virginia O'Hanlon**_

**end chapter two**

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**AN: Was that possibly a little depressing? Oh, well. I guess I'll have to try and write a happy ending for this story while I'm on vacation. Damn my need to please people!**

**Happy Holidays!  
****Love to you all!**


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